


Good Neighbours

by aterribleinfluence



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, I have no excuse for this it's just porn, Idiots in lust, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Porn with Feelings, Voyeurism, doctor!Abby and cop!Marcus, hey that should be the tagline for this whole channel!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 22:24:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11930526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aterribleinfluence/pseuds/aterribleinfluence
Summary: “The first time it had happened, he had been annoyed at his neighbour making noise when he was trying to sleep. The righteous indignation had lasted barely a few minutes until he had realised exactly what it was that she was doing, and then it had guiltily given way to an intense, inescapable arousal.”Marcus Kane lives next door in an apartment block to the very single and very attractive Abby Griffin. An attraction between the two seems set to lead to something more, but Marcus has a secret that threatens to throw a wrench into their blossoming relationship...Modern day AU. Utter, unashamed filth...with my usual generous side-helpings of fluff. Voyeurism, unexpected feelings, Agatha Christie, Chinese food and a whole lot of jerking off. Possibly not in that order.





	1. Chapter 1

Marcus Kane has just gotten into bed when it happens again. The sounds are unmistakable; as much as he tries to convince himself that this time it’s just his imagination – and hey, who could be blamed for imagining something like this from time to time? – he knows logically what’s happening. The same thing that’s been happening with alarming regularity these past few months.

The sounds that come from the adjoining apartment always start the same. The running water, the rippling swish of the water as she lowers herself into the bath, and then...

“ _Mmm_...”

The first, soft, feminine moan is enough to make all the blood in his body rush downwards, and Marcus closes his eyes, half in pleasure, half in frustration. There goes any chance of him getting to sleep.

It doesn’t happen every night. He’s glad it’s not every night. He _wishes_ it were every night. He doesn’t know.

There seems to be no schedule to when his neighbour decides to...indulge herself. If there was, he could probably figure out a way to be out of his apartment when it happened, or at least out of his bedroom, but as it is he’s pretty much always in bed just drifting off to sleep when the sounds start to filter through.

The bathtub is right up against the wall, and the walls here are _thin._

“Oh yeah... _ohhhh_...”

The first time it had happened, he had been annoyed at his new neighbour making noise when he was trying to sleep. The righteous indignation had lasted barely a few minutes until he had realised exactly what it _was_ that she was doing, and then it had guiltily given way to an intense, inescapable arousal.

_Marcus likes_ it when a woman makes some noise in bed, and his neighbour clearly isn’t restrained in that department. Not that she’s actually technically _in_ bed, but fuck it, it’s been way too long since he’s heard a woman make those kind of sounds in any setting whatsoever, and it turns him on like nothing else in the world.

“ _Ah_...”

His neighbour has lived in the apartment next door for only a few months. Her name is Abby Griffin, and he has never actually spoken to her in person. But in his mind’s eye he can see her clearly now, sprawled naked in her bathtub amidst clouds of steam. Her back arcs and the taut, smooth muscles of her stomach twitch and spasm as her hand moves between her legs...

Hearing herself must turn _her_ on as well, since it’s not as if she can be aware she performing for an audience. Or perhaps she just can’t help herself.

Marcus groans, his own helpless sound of desire so soft that only he can hear it. Under the bedsheets his hand drifts down – as it always does – to his rapidly stiffening cock. He tries to tell himself – as he always does – that he can’t help his physical reaction to what he hears. That bringing himself some relief is only natural, under the circumstances. After all, isn’t that what’s _she’s_ doing?

Abby, he knows, is a well-off, professional woman; some kind of doctor. He has seen her around of course, but only knows her to nod at politely if they pass in the street. Truth be told, it has taken him some weeks to get himself to that point. His first instinct had been to avoid looking her in the eye at all.

It doesn’t help that she’s extremely _pleasing_ to look at. He’s tried not to see her that way – it seems creepy somehow, given the circumstances – but he thinks even if he had an entirely innocent relationship with her, he couldn’t help but notice that his next door neighbour is gorgeous. She’s around his age, from what he can judge, and all slender curves, sharp features, and big, dark eyes. The kind of hair you couldn’t help but thinking about running your hands through, if you could let it loose from that ponytail. Lovely little breasts that would fit perfectly in his hands...

Abby lets out a whimpering moan of pleasure as if on cue, unwittingly fuelling his fantasy. Marcus abandons all pretence and starts pumping his hand firmly around his cock as the unbearably erotic sounds continue to filter through the wall.

“Oh... _ohhh_ my god...”

She sounds desperate now, almost anguished as she brings herself closer to the edge. God it must feel so _incredible;_ the warmth of the water around her caressing her skin, the swell of her breasts breaking the surface, nipples taut against the colder air, her deft fingers frantically pressing into her slick heat...

“ _Yes.._.”

Her cries are becoming more breathless, higher pitched with every passing second, a staccato melody underscored by the steady swishing tidal sound of the water. She’s close. Marcus pushes his bedsheets roughly off and thrusts urgently into his hand, stroking faster and faster, silent in his own swelling pleasure.

_“_ Oh yes _...”_ Abby gasps. _“_ Oh _fuck,_ yes, yes, _yes—ah—”_

He can always tell the moment she breaks. Jesus, her orgasms always sound so _good_ , he’d give anything to see what she _looks_ like in that moment. His imagination paints him a vivid picture anyway – Abby with her head thrown back and one hand gripping the side of the bathtub, her body convulsing in ecstasy, sending waves of steaming water over the sides as she thrashes and writhes...

_God._

It barely takes a few more pumps of Marcus’ hand for his own climax to grip him, his body slumping back onto the bed with a stifled moan of bliss as he releases, his cock pulsing in his hand.

The sound of water draining from the bath a few minutes later is kind of a mood killer, but at this point it hardly matters. At this point Marcus has finished cleaning himself up and his post-orgasmic glow is fading in favour of the familiar overwhelming feeling that he’s a colossal perverted jackass.

As he lies in bed trying to get to sleep for the second time that night (admittedly with more chance of success since he’s now thoroughly exhausted for more reasons than one) he reflects that all this wouldn’t be so much of a problem if he had only made an effort to _meet_ Abby Griffin when she first moved in. He just never found the time. At least having a casual acquaintance with her might have made it easier to contemplate giving her some friendly advice re: what activities she enjoys in her bathroom and the thinness of the walls in this crappy building. Who knows, maybe she would have seen...the funny side? _Was_ there a funny side? Something tells him it would be a rare woman who found this situation at all amusing once it was explained to her.

In truth, he has no idea what Abby would think. From what he has heard from other people in the building – alright, so he’s made a few subtle enquiries – she seems nice. Friendly, kind, good sense of humour. And she _is_ undeniably hot too; not that it should matter, but he’s only human after all. He really would like to get to know her better anyway. But how can he possibly introduce himself now?

_“Hello, my name is Marcus Kane, I’m your next door neighbour, and incidentally I’ve been pretty regularly listening to you getting yourself off in the bath and it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t suppose you want some company next time?”_

Should go down well. Maybe it would be better just to stay away from her altogether.

 

* * *

 

The next day Marcus leaves early and gets home late. It’s that kind of a day. His partner’s goodbyes are laced with grumbling about the date he had this evening that is now ruined, which doesn’t do anything to improve either of their moods – Blake is a good cop, even though he still looks about twelve years old to Marcus sometimes, but he can’t help but feel sometimes the guy is deliberately rubbing his face in his own complete lack of social life. The kid seems to always be talking about some new girl or other.

He’s aware he’s jealous, which doesn’t help. The sad truth is that it’s 8:30pm on a Friday night, and Marcus had absolutely no plans other than a re-heated dinner and a vague inclination to watch the Agatha Christie marathon that’s showing on TV. _Really living it up in the big city, Kane,_ he thinks gloomily.

He stops by the mailroom on the way to elevator, and has just grabbed a handful of what look depressingly like bills when a voice comes from behind him:

“Hey.”

Marcus doesn’t quite yelp, but it’s a close run thing. It’s not so much the fact that he’s surprised to hear anyone, more that the unexpected greeting has come from to the one person he happened to be thinking about at that particular moment.

He turns, and sure enough, Abby Griffin is framed in the doorway. Blocking his line of escape, he thinks rather wildly.

“Marcus Kane, right?” she says. “I live next door to you. Abby Griffin.”

She gestures towards the mailbox that sits next to his, and then walks across to him. Marcus just about has the wherewithal to tuck his mail under his left arms so he can shake her outstretched hand in greeting. Her hand is small and soft and warm. She smiles at him. God, she really is attractive – Marcus suddenly finds himself wishing he had at least stopped off at his place to shower before coming down here.

“Welcome to the building,” he says.

“Thanks, I’ve been here for nearly three months,” says Abby, without any particular hostility.

“Oh...right.”

“Actually I’m glad I’ve caught you,” says Abby, dropping his hand. “Do you have a minute? I’ve been wanting to have a word with you...”


	2. Chapter 2

 “Oh my _god_ ,” Abby moans, her eyes closing in pleasure. “That’s so good.”

“Isn’t it?” says Marcus. “I told you – best crispy duck in town.”

“Why have I never been here before?”

“Well it’s out of the way unless you know where it is.”

Marcus watches Abby enthusiastically dig into her food with a strange mixture of happiness and trepidation. He’s...not entirely sure how they got to this point. The evening so far has been a kind of highly coloured blur.

Abby Griffin, it turns out, has that effect on him.

A simple enquiry about the thermostat in her apartment somehow turned into a discussion on the recent weather, which turned into a lengthy conversation about the climate of the city as compared to other places in which they had both lived, which turned into an argument over their respective college sports teams and then sports in general, and by then they were both hungry and after a brief and good-natured argument over the best place to eat nearby they decided the only way to settle it was to go out and lay the matter to rest once and for all.

And now they’re sitting in his favourite Chinese place, surrounded by plates of spring rolls and egg fu yung, and Abby’s long brown hair is glowing golden under the light of cheap red paper lanterns, and Marcus is increasingly aware that he is currently in the middle of doing the very thing he had promised himself _not_ to do.

“So you’re clearly the guy to ask about where to eat round here,” says Abby. “Which makes it especially annoying that I haven’t run into you before now. We live next door to each other and we’re a living cliché of how impersonal life in the big city is.” She’s obviously speaking lightly, but Marcus can’t help but be reminded of how to him she’s a living example of intimately _personal_ life in the big city can be, crammed together as they all are, and the reminder doesn’t do much for his ability to intelligently reply. He makes a vague noise of agreement and grabs some rice to cover his distraction.

“So how have we been missing each other?” says Abby. “You weren’t at the last Residents’ meeting.”

“I was working,” says Marcus. “Sinclair filled me in afterwards.”

“You’re a cop, right?” says Abby, and then blushes. “I...Sinclair told me.”

She’s asked about him. Marcus tries to squash the excited little spark that ignites in his chest at the thought.

“That’s right,” he says, as casually as he can manage. “It means I have to work some odd hours sometimes.”

“I know that feeling.” Abby smiles. “Not so much anymore, but there were times when I felt like I was always on the graveyard shift at the hospital. It does tend to put a crimp in your social life.”

“You seem to have done okay,” says Marcus. “You probably know the other people in the building better after three months than I do after six years.”

“Well I knew Sinclair a little already,” Abby admits. “His daughter is friends with mine. They went to the same school.”

“You have a daughter?” Marcus tries not to sound too surprised. He hasn’t seen anyone...

“Clarke. She’s in college now. Out of state.”

“Oh.” The next question is as difficult to ask as it is obvious. But he can’t stand not knowing. “Her father...?”

“My husband passed away a couple of years ago,” says Abby, obviously having anticipated the question. “Road accident.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Abby nods in acknowledgement of the sentiment; a brief, unemotional gesture that speaks of how many times she must have heard the words before.

“It was hard at first,” she says. “Especially for Clarke. But I like to think that Jake is still with us in some way, looking out for us maybe. I don’t know. Maybe that’s stupid.”

Marcus has a sudden vivid image of a ghostly apparition of Abby’s all-seeing dead husband coming back to punch him hard in the face, and almost chokes on his Szechuan king prawn. He takes a quick drink of water to cover his discomfort.

“It’s not stupid,” he says, when he’s recovered some of his composure. “I lost my mother last year, and I still have a hard time believing she’s really gone.”

“I’m sorry,” says Abby. Her face softens; she obviously finds it easier to deal with other people’s loss than with her own. “Were you close?”

Marcus considers this. “Not as close as either of us would like, I think,” he says finally. “There was...a lot left unsaid, let’s leave it at that.”

Abby nods and then lets out a small sigh, poking at the rapidly cooling noodles on her plate with her fork. “Well, now I’ve put a real damper on the conversation,” she says. “Deceased loved ones isn’t really a good subject for light talk over dinner. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” says Marcus. “It’s bad enough losing someone without feeling as if you have to apologise for it on top of everything else.”

“I’m a little rusty at this,” Abby says.

He almost asks _: At what?_ but stops himself. Abby is trying to appear engrossed in her food, and her face looks a little flushed again.

“So is your daughter studying medicine too?” he asks. He notices the brief flash of gratitude in Abby’s eyes for the – admittedly clumsy – change of subject and then she shakes her head.

“No, and not engineering like her dad either. Clarke’s an artist.” She smiles. “She always wanted to go her own way.”

“Don’t they always?”

Abby looks up at him, surprised. “Do you have kids?”

“No...well, not technically. My partner – I mean my partner at work,” he adds hastily, “I knew him and his sister from when they were young.” He sighs. “Young _er_ , anyway. They still look young to me. It’s a long story but they got into some trouble, and I sort of ended up...unofficially adopting them, I guess.”

“Must have turned out okay if one of them is your partner now,” said Abby.

“Yeah, Bellamy’s a good kid,” said Marcus. “So is Octavia, she just...”

Abby smiles. “Goes her own way?” she suggests.

“You could say that.”

“A toast to parenthood then,” said Abby cheerfully. “And to the kids that drive us crazy and make us proud.”

Instead of her glass – they’re only drinking water anyway – she raises a spring roll caught neatly in her chopsticks, and Marcus instinctively mirrors the movement and taps a roll against hers ceremonially. Abby’s smile turns into a full-on grin, and for a moment he could swear his heart actually skips a beat in his chest.

Its past one in the morning by the time they get home, parting ways only at the doors to their respective apartments, with rather awkward goodbyes and renewed murmurs of _‘nice to finally meet you’_ on both sides. Even with the late hour, once in bed Marcus finds it difficult to fall asleep, and not for the usual reason either.

His mind is in turmoil. He’s just had one of the best evenings since...he can’t even _remember_ when, and yet his good mood is shot through with a hefty dose of guilt, churning away in the pit of his stomach.

He _likes_ Abby. A lot. She’s smart and funny and breathtakingly beautiful. She’s passionate about her job and devoted to her daughter, and she has a bold, confident attitude that he appreciates, unafraid to air her opinions on everything and anything even to someone she’s just met. On top of that, she actually seemed to enjoy his company too.

He would have asked her out to dinner again or something if that were all there was to it, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to do it with his secret still hanging over their heads. Already he feels like he knows her well enough to sense her confusion over his hesitance – there’s clearly an attraction between them, and after she made the first overtures the ball is now in his court to do something about it. God knows any other man would have made a pass at her by now.

But if he asked her out, he’d have to tell her. _Have_ to. As a stranger, hearing...what he’d heard, and doing...what he’d done...well, that could be justified as just an accident, no-one’s fault. Abby wasn’t to know that the walls of her apartment were thin enough for her private moments to be not as private as she hoped, and Marcus couldn’t help his physical reaction to what he heard. It would be better for everyone concerned not to make an issue of it.

If he wants Abby as a friend though, if he wants to keep seeing her, talking to her, being a part of her life...to _not_ come clean with her seems dishonest, slimy. To let her continue, _knowing_ that he’ll hear things she doesn’t intend him to, would be a huge violation of her privacy and her trust.

But telling her...he doesn’t even know how to begin. And so the problem rattles round in his brain, arguments for and against chasing each other around on repeat until he feels as if he’s going half mad.

_You have to tell her._

She’ll be humiliated.

_That’s just an excuse. You have to tell her. The longer you don’t, the worse it will be._

She’ll be furious. She’ll think he’s a pervert. She might even call the cops on him.

_You still have to tell her._

She’ll never want to see him again. And that silences the little voice in his head for a while, because it’s startling even to him how much he doesn’t want that to happen.

He could always _move_ , of course. And extreme solution maybe, but he’s done stupider things in his life for women he’s liked a lot less. That would certainly take away the guilt factor, but it would mean being further away from Abby, which sort of defeated the point, and it would also mean that someone else would presumably move _in_ to his vacated apartment.

The thought of anyone else listening to Abby pleasure herself makes Marcus want to break things. He isn’t sure how he feels about that.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes up the next morning, Marcus is decided. For now, the only solution he has to his problem is as obvious as it is impractical, and it doesn’t take long before he’s obliged to put it into practice.

The next time he hears her turn the faucet on – just a couple of days later –  Marcus gets out of bed immediately, and to hell with his early start tomorrow. He goes into the other room, puts his headphones on and plays music very loudly for the next fifteen minutes, vainly attempting to engross himself in a book while he waits.

Fifteen minutes should be safe, he judges, although it doesn’t usually take her that long to...to...

He tries to drown out the little voice in his head reminding him that just because he can’t _hear_ it doesn’t mean it isn’t happening, doesn’t mean that Abby Griffin isn’t naked right now, technically just a room away, writhing and crying out as she comes and comes and comes...

He turns the music up until it’s almost painful in his ears. He firmly ignores the growing bulge tenting his pyjama pants, and when he judges that enough time has passed, he goes into his own bathroom – mercifully located at the other side of his apartment – and has a very quick, very _cold_ shower.

And then he goes back to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

A little under a month later, and Marcus is coming to the realisation that he has consigned himself to a kind of personal hell.

He’s tired, guilty and almost permanently, _incredibly_ sexually frustrated. Abby is not in the habit of getting herself off in the bath that often – on average once, maybe twice a week, and he _hates_ himself for having that information – but the problem is the not _knowing._

He can almost deal with the nights when he hears the familiar rush of water and drags himself out of bed on some kind of stupid noble impulse that seems more and more meaningless each time. What’s harder to deal with are the nights when he finds himself lying there, staring at the ceiling, half wishing...

And then there’s Abby Griffin herself.

He sees her almost every day just around the building anyway; passes her in the corridor, or on the street outside. He ends up in the elevator a few times with her and can’t help but exchange a few friendly words in that situation, because what else _could_ he do? He can hardly ignore her altogether.

But a few friendly words somehow turn into going out to dinner with her again, and then later going to the museum to see an exhibit they both happened to be interested in, and one time meeting up at the store quite by chance and ending up at the park feeding stale bread to the pigeons. He likes spending time with her. He can’t help it. Even with the guilt nagging at the back of his mind and the constant annoyance of his interrupted sleep, Marcus finds when he’s with Abby he’s happier than he can ever remember being, and he can’t bring himself to give that up. She also seems to become more and more attractive every time he sees her, which he knows isn’t possible, but there it is.

And the worst part...the worst part is that just the sound of her soft, throaty voice can set his pulse pounding, reminding him unwillingly how he had heard her voice before he ever even saw her face for the first time. Marcus wishes he could separate the woman he _knows_ from the woman in his fantasies, but they’re too obviously intertwined. He was hoping that actually having spent time with Abby would dispel his more lurid mental images of her, but instead it just means that his fantasy Abby Griffin has been upgraded into a newly vivid HD version.

He can take steps to prevent himself from hearing her in real life as he had been before, but he can’t stop the sound of her voice from creeping into his dreams, or the image of her in the steaming water, naked and soft and...

He still tries, occasionally, to come up with a way to come clean with her. But he can’t bring himself to do that either. And so here he is, half infatuated with this woman and stuck not being able to let her go or daring to make a move on her.

 

* * *

 

Thinking that the situation couldn’t _possibly_ get worse turns out to have been a mistake, because one day it does.

It’s a deceptively peaceful morning, and Marcus has spent the first couple of hours since waking sitting on his couch reading the newspaper and eating cereal. Technically it’s his day off, but Blake is supposed to be bringing round some paperwork on his way to the gym, so he can’t really relax yet. He knows it shouldn’t take long to finish off once he has it, but he can’t _start_ anything until it’s done.

And Blake is late, of course. It’s not like his partner to be flaky, and Marcus is getting increasingly annoyed. He’s slept in late for once, and now he’s stuck in his pyjamas like a slob because he hasn’t showered yet and he doesn’t want to miss the door.

It’s nearly 11am when he finally cracks, figuring Blake has just forgotten, and he’ll have to give him an earful about it at work on Monday. So he puts his empty cereal bowl in the sink, strips off his pyjamas with a certain amount of relief – lie-ins aren’t really his thing, he’s decided – and heads to the shower anyway.

He’s barely stepped under the water when there’s a knock on the door. Turns out he _could_ hear it even with the water on, although that’s not much consolation right now.

“Damn it,” he mutters, and grabs a towel to tie around his waist as he turns off the water, slipping a little on the tiled floor in his haste. He can feel he’s leaving behind a trail of little drops of water as he makes his way to the door and wrenches it open, frowning.

“You’re over an hour late, Blake, I was—”

He stops.

Abby stares at him, words of greeting dying on her lips. Her gaze flickers down from his face and then jerks back up again, her cheeks starting to go pink.

“I, uh...sorry,” she says. “I was just going to...I wanted to pick up that book?”

“Right,” he says, although for a few seconds he honestly has no idea what she’s talking about. Then a light dawns and he recalls a conversation they had a couple of days ago where he’d been enthusing about a new author’s detective novels and made some kind of blithe promise to—

“Come in,” he says hastily, stepping back and leaving her to enter and close the door, because right now he really _really_ doesn’t want to risk releasing the hold he has on the towel around his waist. Abby is looking everywhere but at him, and the click of the door closing behind her sounds very loud in the embarrassed silence.

“I’ll just...I’ll go and...I’ll be right back,” mutters Marcus helplessly, and all but flees into his bedroom, leaving Abby standing awkwardly by the couch.

As soon as he’s safely out of sight and the bedroom door firmly closed between the two of them, Marcus sinks heavily onto the edge of the bed and lets his head drop into his hands for a moment.

“ _Shit_ ,” he mutters, with some feeling, and then gets up and starts pulling on clothes, grabbing the first pair of jeans and t-shirt that come to hand. He rubs his hair vigorously with the towel to at least try and stop it dripping everywhere, and runs his hand through it a few times, pushing the sodden curls back from his face.

When he walks back into his living room, he’s relieved to see that Abby hasn’t fled in embarrassment – not that she’s really the type to do that, but he wouldn’t have blamed her – and is instead studiously examining his book collection.

“So, Poirot or Marple?” she says, turning to smile at him.

“What?”

Abby nods towards his bookshelf. “Agatha Christie. Among many others, I notice. For a man who has to solve crime all day at work, you own a bizarre amount of crime novels. Don’t you ever get sick of it?”

“The books bear no resemblance at all to the real thing, believe me,” Marcus says, relieved that she seems happy to let the awkwardness of the past five minutes drop. “Anyway, wouldn’t _you_ want to read books where the heroic doctor always saves the day?”

Abby raises her eyebrows. “Fair point,” she says. “So go on then – Poirot or Marple? Which do you prefer? I’m guessing Poirot, since he’s the ex-detective and Miss Marple is just a nosey civilian.”

“Actually I’m more a fan of Marple.”

“Why?”

“She, er...she always reminded me a bit of my mother, to be honest.”

Abby starts to smile. “Really? Your mother was a crime solving genius masquerading as a harmless little old lady? I wish I could have met her.”

“She would have loved you.”

He says it without thinking, simply because it’s true, and is unprepared for the look of surprised delight that spreads across Abby’s face. “Thank you,” she says, and what might have sounded awkward coming from anyone else she makes sound genuinely sincere. “I’m sure I would have loved her too.”

The atmosphere has subtly shifted into something more intimate, expectant in a way Marcus can hardly describe. He grabs the book he’s been keeping out for her from a side table to cover his uncertainty.

“Here’s the book I was telling you about,” he says, rather redundantly, as he hands it to her. Their hands brush as she takes it.

“Thank you,” Abby says again, a little quieter this time. She hesitates. “Marcus I...I’d say I’m sorry for walking in on you like that, but I’m...not, really.”

Marcus feels his breath catch in his throat. She’s looking up at him with an expression half nervous, half determined, but this time she doesn’t look away. His heart is pounding like a drum inside his chest, and he feels suddenly far more exposed than he did just a few minutes ago when he had faced her wearing nothing but a towel.

He wants to kiss her. She wants it too – he can see it in her eyes, the way her heads tilts up almost imperceptibly towards his. It would be so easy, the easiest thing in the world, to lean down and press his lips to hers...

A loud banging noise breaks the moment, and both of them jump about a foot in the air. Abby steps back, obviously flustered, her face turning pink. It takes Marcus a few seconds to pull himself together enough to realise that the noise is someone knocking on his front door, and when he goes to open it he finds Blake, slightly out of breath and looking apologetic.

“Traffic,” he says, by way of explanation. He steps in with the air of one who has long since made himself at home in his partner’s place and dumps the paperwork he’s holding onto the coffee table. It’s only then he notices Abby.

“Oh...hi,” he says, slightly awkwardly. “I didn’t realise you had company.”

There’s a split second where Marcus realises if either he or Abby say something then Blake might not notice anything amiss, but they’re both uncomfortable enough that neither of them replies immediately, and Blake’s eyes start to flick thoughtfully between them.

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?” he says.

Marcus has no idea why anyone _ever_ says that, since he can’t imagine any possible situation in which that question would make things _less_ awkward. Much though he’s fond of the kid, right now he’d happily shove Blake out the door and slam it in his face.

Abby is back to determinedly not looking him in the eye. “I was just going,” she says quickly, to no-one in particular. “I...thanks again for the book.”

She doesn’t look at him once as she all but flees out into the corridor. Blake raises his eyebrows when he sees her go into the door to her own apartment, and turns back to Marcus with a questioning look.

“That the woman who’s got you in such a mood recently?” he asks.

“No,” says Marcus repressively. “She’s just my neighbour. She came round to borrow a book.”

“Right,” says Blake. “So I shouldn’t read anything into the fact that you were looking at her the way you usually look at the last jelly donut in the box when we’re on stakeout and you haven’t eaten all day?”

“That’s a cop cliché, and you know it. Anyway, no I wasn’t.”

“Right,” says Blake again, sounding even less convinced this time. “Just my imagination. Absolutely nothing between you and the drop-dead gorgeous woman who lives next door to you and just happens to be at your place early in the morning while you’ve obviously just gotten out of the shower.”

Marcus scowls. “Drop it, Blake.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

 

* * *

 

It figures that it’s _that_ night, of all nights, that he hears the faucet in the next apartment turn on again.

Marcus hasn’t had a relaxing day off. He’s spent most of it out of his apartment, because when he was in it he found himself caught in an endless internal debate over whether or not to go next door, knock on Abby’s door and just—

The sound of running water stops, and there’s the familiar creak of floorboards and faint sigh as she gets into the bath. He wonders if Abby too has had a restless day. If she too can’t stop thinking about this morning. Perhaps this is her way of relaxing.

“ _Ah_...”

The first faint moan filters through the wall, just on the edge of hearing. Marcus should move. He _knows_ he should get up and walk away as he has been doing, but...

The image of Abby’s face so close to his drifts into his mind again; her soft, dark eyes, her parted lips...he feels a surge of desire so intense it’s as if his whole body is on fire. God, he wants her so _badly_ , and as the soft, breathtakingly lovely sounds of her pleasure start to drift through the wall, he can’t tear himself away. Perhaps he could just stay for a little while. Just a few moments longer.

He has already done this more than once, after all. Why pretend he can redeem himself now? He can get up in a minute or two maybe. For now he lets his eyes close, his body relax into the bed...

“ _Oh_...oh _Marcus_...”

His eyes slam open.

“ _There_ , right there... _please_...”

Marcus has forgotten how to breathe. All thoughts of leaving the room have entirely deserted him; he can barely move a muscle, his heart pounding in his chest. He might have imagined it. He _didn’t_ imagine it. His imagination isn’t that good.

_Hers,_ though...

Abby lets out a soft whimpering sound of pure, frantic desire. “Marcus...don’t stop...oh god...oh _god_...”

Marcus doesn’t leave. He’ll probably go to hell for it, but he doesn’t leave. He stays and listens to Abby’s moans of pleasure as she brings herself closer to the edge, he listens to the water swirling around the movements of her writhing body, he listens to her as she comes, faster than she ever has before, her voice breaking with ecstasy as she cries out his name.

It’s the most erotic moment of his life, and also possibly the most contemptible thing he’s ever done.

In spite of his body’s demands, he doesn’t even think to bring himself any relief, just lies there with his mind in turmoil until his raging erection finally wanes and he falls asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

A few days later, Marcus stands in the shower, letting the water run over him and wondering if he stands here for long enough he might be able to drown himself.

He’s really _really_ fucked this whole thing up.

Marcus Kane would be the first to admit he’s got many faults – a fact that is only becoming more apparent to him by the day – but he can safely say that not admitting when he’s really fucked something up is not one of them. Never let it be said that he hides from his mistakes.

He’s _really_ fucked this up.

He has no idea how to deal with Abby Griffin. He’s been avoiding her, and he can see the hurt in her eyes, and the only way he can stand it is knowing that he has the capacity to cause her a hell of a lot _more_ hurt if he’s not careful.

Although it’s a little late to worry about being careful now. Now he’s crossed a line he didn’t even know was there until he was the other side of it. Now he knows something very private about her that he _definitely_ isn’t meant to know. The fact that it’s also sort of about _him_ is beside the point.

Voyeur. Peeping Tom. All the phrases sound like they have something to do specifically with _sight_ , but isn’t what he’s done just as bad? He cares for Abby, he really does, and yet he hasn’t acted like it. They were on the edge of something, the two of them, and he’s fucked it all up because of his damn stupid stereotypical male inability to think with his _brain._ Jesus, he might as well have broken into her home and read her diary.

The worst part is that he’s sure now that she cares for him too. Or at least she _wants_ him. And as awful as he feels about how he came by it, there’s a part of him that rejoices in that knowledge.

A very specific part of him.

_She was thinking about you when she got off._

That thought alone is enough to make his cock twitch to attention; it has been playing on repeat in his head for the last few days, much though he’s tried to drown it out with self recrimination. He only allows it to come to the top of his mind, only allows himself to sink into the full depth of the knowledge, at times like this.

_She was thinking about you when she came._

The warm water of the shower caresses the skin of his back, and Marcus reaches down to wrap his hand around himself, letting out a shaky sigh of pleasure just at the prospect of relief. He lets his eyes close and remembers Abby moaning his name.

Lust swirls dark and hot in the pit of his stomach. He starts to slide his hand slowly up and down his slippery cock and it stiffens obligingly, swelling in his grip.

_She was thinking about you, fantasising about you. She was imagining you there with her, imagining your hands on her body, your lips on her skin, your cock filling her tight, wet—_

“Oh _yeah_...” He exhales shakily, the movements of his hand speeding up, unbidden. He has thought about her before, imagined her pleasuring herself, but before now he has never put _himself_ in that picture. Suddenly he can’t seem to help it; it’s as if a dam has broken and all he can think of is her warm soft body wrapped around his, the two of them moving together, her ecstatic cries muffled as he kisses her again and again and again, pressing deeper into her with every hard, urgent thrust...

God, just thinking about it feels so good he’s about ready to explode. His hoarse, panting grunts of pleasure echo around the bathroom, and the small part of his mind still capable of thought thanks god that his apartment is on the end of the building, and no-one else shares a wall with _him._

_She wants you. She’s hot for you. If you went round to her apartment right now you could have her, you could fuck each other senseless for hours and hours and..._

Marcus braces his free hand against the slippery tiles, pumping feverishly. He’s so close. God, he needs more, he needs _her._

 “Oh _Jesus_ ,” he groans, as the swelling pressure rises inexorably to its peak. “Oh fuck _yes_... _Abby_...”

He comes _hard,_ with a low, rough moan, hips jerking as the frantic movement of his hand draws out each long pulse of bliss. After the moment has passed he just about manages not to collapse, his legs trembling a little as his panting breaths slowly return to normal.

As Marcus cleans up, the water is already starting to run cold. He must remember to mention that at the next residents’ meeting.

He doesn’t let himself feel guilty for this, at least. What he does to get off, what he thinks of...that’s _his_ business. He’s aware of the staggering hypocrisy of that thought, but still. The way things are going, his fantasies are going to be all he has for the foreseeable future, and he’ll be damned if he’ll deny himself that much, at least.

In the end, he realises, that is all Abby Griffin can ever be to him. The same thing he apparently is to her – a fantasy. He was stupid to think there could be anything more between them, that a fucked up, perpetually single man in his forties who lives for his job and hasn’t had a real relationship in decades could ever be worthy of a woman like her. She’s a beautiful, passionate, charming sort of daydream, and the man _she_ fantasises about...doesn’t exist. Marcus is painfully aware that he doesn’t live up to any of what she might imagine to be his attractive qualities. Even in her fantasies...Abby deserves better.

 Avoiding her is the best thing to do. Not letting any of this go any further is the best thing for both of them.

He tells himself that he doesn’t notice the space on his bookshelf as he heads out of the door to work.

 

* * *

 

It’s only a little over an hour into his shift when the call comes in on the car radio. Blake is talking about some guy Octavia has met that he thinks is too old for her, and Marcus is only listening with half an ear – he’s actually met the guy in question already and thinks he seems like a steadying influence for once, which is more than can be said for some of Octavia’s other friends. But Bellamy likes to play the concerned big brother, and Marcus has long since learnt that it’s easier to let the siblings work through this kind of thing without trying to interfere too much. They’re both pretty much all grown up now, and don’t need him as much as they once did.

It’s been a quiet day so far, and when the radio crackles into life it’s the first call that’s actually needed them to take any action. It’s a hell of a thing to start the day with though – multiple shots fired by a single assailant, unconfirmed casualties. Backup requested immediately.

Location: Arkadia Hospital. Where Abby works.

Marcus feels a kind of dull roaring sound in his ears that all but drowns out Blake’s voice next to him. He turns on the siren and drives. Fast.

Weaving through the traffic, siren blaring, it only takes them about ten minutes to arrive at the hospital, and more details come through the radio as they drive. Suspect in custody. Believed to be acting alone. Paramedics on scene. Well, it’s a hospital, Marcus damn well _hopes_ there are paramedics on scene, but the information doesn’t do anything for the cold knot of fear in his stomach.

He’s never been to Arkadia Hospital before. He can almost feel Abby’s presence as they approach, weighing down the world and drawing him in like a magnet. He’d feel it, surely, if something had happened to her? God, and he’s been avoiding her, and now for all he knows she’s...

He and Blake aren’t the first cops to arrive, and when they get into the walk-in clinic that seems to be the centre of the commotion, the atmosphere is very much one of a roomful of people recovering from shock. The immediate danger has clearly passed, and although there are a lot of people milling about in a dazed sort of way, and a shocked buzz in the air, no-one present looks injured. Marcus spots Sgt. Byrne, an old friend, talking to a couple of people – taking statements by the looks of it – and when she sees him she waves him over.

“What’s the situation?” he asks, as soon as the civilians have scuttled off. “Have you got the shooter in custody?”

“They’re taking him to the station now,” says Byrne. “I got stuck with cleanup. There’s going to be a lot of paperwork but it could have been worse. Just the one guy with a cheap handgun, and by the time any of us were on the scene the nurses here already had him hog-tied and waiting for us.”

“He was alone then?” says Blake.

Byrne nods. “Some stupid kid strung out on drugs. Came here to score some more, the Doc said no and things got messy from there. He panicked and pulled a gun, and things got messier.” She snorts “Idiot. Probably never even fired it before today, and now he’s looking at attempted murder, or at least GBH.”

“Confirmed casualties then?” asks Marcus tightly.

Byrne nods. “A couple. One man got clipped by a bullet wrestling the gun away from the kid. Brave guy. The other is a doctor here; got a bullet right in the stomach. Maybe deliberate, maybe just a wild shot, it’s not clear yet. She’s in surgery now. I’ll say this – if there’s one place you want to get shot, it’s in a hospital.”

_She’s in surgery now._

Marcus suddenly feels as if he’s going to be sick. The room sways slightly around him. Something must show on his face because Byrne gives him a slightly confused look.

“You ok, Kane?” she says.

“Do you know—” he starts, and then stops short, the words dying on his lips, because he sees her.

_Abby._

 If his life were a movie, the crowds would have parted in slow motion and she would have appeared in a soft glowing backlight to the accompaniment of harps and violins, looking like an angel descending from heaven. Instead, she just looks stressed as she steps out of an elevator, her face tense and pale, gaze darting around the room. She’s wearing a rather rumpled white doctor’s coat and her hair is coming out of its customary ponytail. When she finally catches his eye across the room, her eyes widen in surprise, and she stares at him, obviously thrown by his unexpected presence.

She’s the most beautiful thing Marcus has ever seen in his life.

He doesn’t think, just strides across the room to her, pulls her into his arms and kisses her fiercely on the mouth. There’s a heartbeat of hesitation when her whole body tenses against him and Marcus just has time to think: _oh shit, what have I done,_ before Abby throws her arms around his neck and kisses him back so enthusiastically he forgets for several minutes how to breathe.

What the hell, breathing is overrated anyway. Kissing Abby is _good._ It’s very _very_ good, better than he’s ever imagined, and he’s imagined it a _lot_. She’s sweet and yielding and passionate and eager all at once; he can feel her hands twining into his hair as she anchors herself to him, the soft pressure of her breasts against his chest, her small, warm body moulded to his as they sway slightly on the spot, entwined and kissing as if it’s the only thing keeping them alive.

Hell, maybe it is.

It takes them several tries to break apart. The moment her lips leave his, Marcus can’t help but capture them again, desperate not to lose the sensation, unwilling for the moment to end. When he finally releases her it’s only so that he can _look_ at her properly, to convince himself that she’s really here, safe and unhurt.

Abby doesn’t look hurt. She looks... _happy_ , happier than he’s ever seen her, a smile playing around her lips and her cheeks flushed with pleasure. Her eyes, he thinks dazedly, are the exact colour of how he likes his coffee, a warm, rich brown.

“Oh, I’ve been wanting to do that for _weeks_ ,” she breathes softly.

Marcus opens his mouth to reply, but he’s cut off by a meaningful cough from behind him. He turns to see Blake – his partner’s eyebrows are raised so high that they’re somewhere in the region of his hairline, and he looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Uh...Kane?” he says, almost as though he’s no longer quite sure, given such wildly out of character behaviour. “Are you going to introduce me?”

Marcus sighs. “You’ve met Abby,” he says bluntly.

“No...I don’t think so,” says Blake. “I _did_ meet a woman the other day who looked a lot like her, but it can’t be the same person, because _that_ woman you specifically denied having any kind of relationship with. ‘Just my neighbour’ you said. You were pretty definite. So either this is a completely different woman, or I just hallucinated you two making out like horny teenagers in the middle of a room full of people.” He shakes his head sadly. “Wow, the stress of this job must really be getting to me.”

Flippant though his words were, they did serve to remind Marcus that he _is_ actually on duty right now. A quick glance around the room tells him that Byrne has tactfully turned the other way and is talking to a harassed looking hospital administrator, but she could hardly ignore it if he just left in the middle of his shift with Abby, any more than Blake could. If nothing else they have a whole lot of people to take statements from, by the looks of it.

Marcus makes a decision and turns to Blake. “Cover for me for five minutes, would you?”

“Wow, five whole minutes?” says Blake. “Lucky woman.”

Marcus glares at him, but Blake just grins and strolls off, throwing a quick “Good to meet you again Ma’am,” to Abby as he walks away.

It’s not easy in the middle of a crowded inner-city hospital to find a quiet place out of the way, and Marcus ends up making do with a mostly empty corridor that nonetheless has people occasionally striding quickly past on their way to somewhere more important. It’s not the most private of locations but that’s probably just as well, since both he and Abby are both still at work and really most of his mind right now is taken up by the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her again as soon as possible.

He settles for standing a decent distance away from her and trying his best to keep his voice steady when he asks:

“Are you alright?”

Abby smiles. “I am now. I was worried about you.”

“ _You_ were...” Marcus can’t help but let out a breath of disbelieving laughter. “God Abby, when the call came in...I thought...”

She reaches out and cradles his face gently, a sweet, unspeakably intimate gesture. A young man in scrubs throws them a curious glance as he passes, but Abby doesn’t seem to care.

“I know what you thought,” she says. “But Marcus, I’m not the one who puts his life on the line every day as part of his job.”

Marcus reaches up to capture her hand and presses it to his lips. “You’re making my job sound a lot more glamorous and dangerous than it is,” he says.

“You could have been shot today,” says Abby quietly. “I heard there was a shooter and the police were here and I knew you were on duty. I had to be sure.”

Marcus can’t help himself; he leans down and kisses her again, knowing no words he could say would ever be able to express what he feels in this moment. Abby sighs happily, her lips parting under his. This kiss is gentler, sweeter than the last. If their first, desperate attempt felt like it ended all too soon, this one feels as if it lasts forever, a soft, blissful eternity. When they pull apart, something in Marcus’ world has fundamentally shifted.

He can’t do this anymore.

“You you have tomorrow off, right?” he says.

She nods, and it almost breaks his heart how hopeful she looks. For a moment Marcus almost relents, but he’s in far too deep now, and if he doesn’t do this now, he never will.

“Would you mind coming round to my place sometime in the morning to talk?” he says. That will be easier, he thinks – that way she can leave when he tells her the truth, if she wants to. She can yell at him without them making a scene, and then she can leave. She _will_ leave. She’ll leave and she’ll hate him and he’ll never get to hold her in his arms again...

Something in his voice must have warned Abby of his seriousness, because the look on her face fades to concern.

“Is everything...alright?” she says tentatively.

“Of course,” Marcus says, forcing a smile. No sense in making her worry overnight after the day she’s had. “I just...I need to tell you something, that’s all.”


	5. Chapter 5

The silence that fills Marcus’ apartment is the worst he’s ever known. It’s like a living thing, expanding to fill every inch of space, horrible in its immensity.

Abby sits on a chair opposite the couch where he’s sitting. Her cheeks are covered in a dull flush, and her eyes are lowered. She hasn’t said a word since he started talking. Since she understood what it was he was telling her.

The silence is so oppressive it feels like the most difficult thing Marcus has ever done to break it by speaking again, but he can hardly feel sorry for himself now, not when this is all his fault.

“I’m so sorry, Abby,” he says. It’s not the first time he’s said it in the last five minutes, and it won’t be the last. “I should have told you after the first time, I just...I was embarrassed and it seemed better not to say anything and then when it happened again I...”

He takes a deep breath. He’s practised saying these words a hundred times over, but it’s different with Abby sitting a few feet away from him like a statue.

“I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” he says. “I thought...I liked you, and I wanted you to think well of me, and god, maybe you _shouldn’t_ think well of me because I...I mean I didn’t mean to but...”

He’s babbling. It sounds like he’s making excuses and he’s gone on too long, and it suddenly occurs to him that Abby might only be waiting for him to stop so that she can leave. She shouldn’t have to listen to his stumbling apologies if she doesn’t want to.

“I have no excuse,” he says heavily. “I violated your privacy and you have every right to be angry.”

Abby seems to sense – perhaps by the tone of his voice – that he’s finally run out of things to say, because she finally looks up at him, her expression unreadable.

“How many times?” she says quietly.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, I wasn’t...I mean, I didn’t keep count.”

“And you...” She trails off but it doesn’t take a genius to get what she’s asking. Marcus feels his own face heat up.

“Yeah,” he says. “Sorry.”

The word just seems increasingly trite and meaningless the more times he says it. The silence returns. Marcus almost wishes Abby would look away again, because now her eyes are boring into him as if searching for something. He feels horribly exposed before her, and curses himself again for his own hypocrisy.

“Show me,” says Abby.

The world stutters for a moment, as the mental script Marcus has been following for this conversation throws up a blank. It takes a few seconds for him to fully register what she’s said. He stares at her.

“You...you want me to...?”

He trails off. He can’t speak the words, can’t even begin to believe that he’s understood her correctly. Abby doesn’t break his gaze.

“I want you to show me what you did when you listened to me,” she says. “It’s only fair, Marcus.” To his utter amazement, a slow smile starts to creep across her face. “Or can’t you manage it while I’m watching? Because I feel like that could put quite a damper on our relationship.”

“I can manage,” says Marcus, instinctively defensive. Then his brain catches up with the words again. “Wait, our... _relationship?_ ”

“Mmm hmm. Kind of a weird one so far, but still.”

“But I...you’re not...angry?”

“Jury’s still out on that one.” Abby bites her lip thoughtfully. “Maybe I should be. Are you angry that I thought about _you_ that way?”

“No, of course not.” Marcus feels like his mouth is operating on automatic; several important parts of his brain now seem to have entirely shut down out of shock. “But it’s not the same...I didn’t just _think_ about you Abby, I practically _spied_ on you.”

“Not deliberately,” says Abby.

“Well no, not exactly, but...” Why the hell is he arguing _against_ her now?

“And yet you’re acting like you drilled a hole in my wall and put a camera through or something,” says Abby. “Which I assume you didn’t, by the way?”

“No!”

“In fact you didn’t _do_ anything...except the exact same _thing I_ was doing, a wall away.”

Marcus gapes at her. He hasn’t actually thought of it in those terms before, and he still can’t wrap his head around the fact that Abby is now looking more amused than anything. He remembers suddenly a thought he’d had right at the start of this whole thing – that it would be a rare woman who found this situation funny once it was explained to her.

Abby stands up slowly. “So it would actually be true to say that the only difference was that you _knew_ we were both in the same, uh... _position_ , and I didn’t. And that _does_ seem unfair.” She crosses the space between them, and Marcus stares up at her, transfixed.

“You didn’t see, but you imagined it, right?” she says, her voice now a low, throaty whisper. “You imagined me naked...touching myself...”

Marcus swallows hard. “Yes,” he manages. “I did.”

“You got off to the thought of it.”

“...yes.”

She pushes him back against the couch abruptly, and sinks down to straddle him. Suddenly he has a lap full of Abby, and before he can believe what’s happening, she presses her lips fiercely to his. He responds on pure instinct, wrapping his arms around her and pulling body flush to his, kissing her back with fervent eagerness. When Abby pulls away she’s panting, and Marcus realises with a sudden giddy rush of disbelief that she’s really _not_ offended, she’s not angry. The dark, hungry look in her eyes is something else entirely.

“That’s really, _really_ hot,” she whispers, and kisses him again.

The sheer relief that crashes through him is there for only a moment before it’s overwhelmed by a wave of hot, urgent desire. Abby is perfect in his arms, all soft curves pressed deliciously against him and ardent, passionate kisses. Her hands cradle his face, slide up to tangle in his hair and he _moans_ at the wonderful onslaught of sensation. His own hands slide down her back and then up again, under the hem of her shirt, mapping her smooth warm skin, tracing the curve of her spine. Abby gasps, her lips parting from his for a moment as her whole body arcs under his touch. Marcus shifts forward and takes the opportunity to bend his head and press kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, to the soft, rising swell of her breasts. Abby makes a little whimpering sound of longing and drags him back upwards to meet her lips again, pressing him back against the couch as she kisses him greedily, her hands leaving his hair to roam over his chest.

She _wants_ him. She’s been wanting him as long as he’s been wanting her, and Marcus feels his whole body set alight with the sheer force of her desire and his own, finally meeting in perfect accord. They’re moving together in a clumsy, grinding rhythm as they kiss, and the sweet friction of Abby’s hips against him stokes the flames of his lust with every movement. He’s already painfully hard, his erection straining against the material of his jeans, and Abby is making soft little moaning sounds as she rubs against him. She tugs at his lower lip with her teeth as she breaks their kiss, and then a sly smile spreads across her face as she slides one hand slowly down his body. Marcus can’t help but shiver with pleasure at her touch; she’s watching his reaction, clearly enjoying the look of what he’s pretty sure must be helpless arousal on his face as her wandering hand moves downwards, tracing the tense muscles of his stomach before drifting lower...

And then she’s unbuttoning his jeans and unzipping the fly and _yes this is really happening_ and suddenly her hand is on his cock and every other thought flies out of his head.

She strokes him through the material of his boxers, a tentative, fumbling caress, and Marcus lets his head fall back against the couch as pure bliss threatens to overwhelm him. Abby shifts a little to nuzzle kisses into the crook of his neck as her fingers do a little gentle exploration, tracing the outline of his throbbing erection, stroking the most sensitive parts of him with the lightest of pressure. Marcus is panting, taut and trembling with lust; he feels as if his heart is going to beat out of his chest. It feels good, oh _god_ it feels so much better than anything he’s ever felt before in his life, her warm, skilful little hand sliding up and down the aching length of him with wonderful, agonising slowness.

“ _Abby_...” he gasps, hardly able to remember any other word. “Oh god, Abby...”

Abby presses a kiss to the sensitive spot below his ear. He feels the tip of her tongue darting out to taste his skin. “That’s right,” she murmurs. “I want to hear you like you heard me. Let me hear you, Marcus.”

The sound of her saying his name as she strokes him rhythmically is almost more than he can bear, and Marcus lets out a rough groan, his hips jerking up, rutting against her touch without conscious thought. Abby hums softly with satisfaction at his reaction, and then both her hands are moving to push down his jeans and his boxers over his erection, baring him to her.

“I want you,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper in his ear. “We both want this. Why the hell have we waited for so long?”

Then she squirms backwards and stands up just long enough to pull down her own jeans and underwear in one swift movement, kicking them off onto the floor before straddling him again. The glorious shock of her bare skin against his is breathtaking, but Marcus hardly has a moment to get used to it before she takes his aching cock in her hand and sinks down onto him, taking him inside her.

_Oh Jesus yes._

She doesn’t move at first, just leans forward to kiss him softly before sliding her hands down his chest to grip the hem of his shirt and tug it upwards, pulling it over his head.

“Mmm, that’s better,” she says, and reaches out to touch his bare chest...but Marcus seizes her wrist gently before she can.

“Not fair,” he says hoarsely, and grins. “I thought this was all about being fair, Abby.”

Abby smirks and obligingly raises her arms over her head with a touch of irreverence. Marcus draws her shirt over her head and flings it to the side, desperately trying to ignore the intensely pleasurable little wriggling motion Abby makes as he does so. She reaches behind herself and takes off her bra without his help, which Marcus thinks shows a disheartening lack of faith in his abilities, but _fuck it_ he doesn’t care because her lovely, perfect little breasts are right there in front of him and when he lowers his head to take one of her stiff pink nipples in his mouth she makes the most erotic sound he’s ever heard in his life.

Her hips rock against him urgently as he tastes her skin, teases her with his tongue, making her whimper and squirm. The effect is extraordinarily distracting, but Marcus keeps his focus on her, on the little panting breaths issuing from her parted lips, on the dewy beads of sweat across her flushed chest. Her hair is a wild tangle from her shirt having been pulled over her head, and she’s _beautiful,_ and it’s a strange moment to realise it, but he’s in love with her.

He slides his palm down her stomach to where they’re joined, and slips his thumb through her dark curls to stroke against her clit, gently at first, and then more purposefully as Abby moans her approval, rubbing tight little circles against the slick, sensitive nub.

Abby’s whole body quivers. Her thighs tighten around him. “ _Oh_ ,” she gasps. “Oh Marcus...I’m...”

And then, for the first time, he gets to see her come.

Abby’s back arcs and her head drops back, her whole body taut as a bowstring as the muscles deep inside her squeeze and spasm blissfully around him. A desperate, keening cry falls from her parted lips as she writhes in his arms, eyes tight shut, lost in waves of ecstasy. Every contraction of pleasure clenches tight around Marcus’ desperately sensitive cock and he moans helplessly at the sensation, so close himself he swears his vision is starting to fog at the edges.

Abby relaxes into his embrace as the last ripples of her orgasm fade away, and then starts to move again, kissing him deeply as she does so, pressing him back against the couch as she takes back control. When she breaks away from his lips she’s still breathless, but smirks at him in a way that makes him sure she’s got more important things on her mind than her own exhaustion.

“That’s one more you owe me, Marcus,” she says, her voice low and throaty and _unbelievably_ sexy. “Fair’s fair.”

She moves her hips more emphatically than before, focusing on his pleasure, her eyes dark and warm as she watches him. She braces her hands against his shoulders, rises until they’re all but disconnected, and then presses back down to take him in deep again, and again, and again...

She fucks him _hard_ until he’s crying out with every breath, his hands clutching wildly at her back, the sheer immensity of pleasure rising inside him like a tidal wave. His body is trembling, straining, hips thrusting upwards desperately to meet her with each stroke. Abby cradles his face, kisses him fiercely, clumsily.

“Just let it go, honey,” she murmurs softly. “I want to see you. Come for me.”

Perhaps it’s only right that, after so long jerking off to the sound of her voice, the simple command is enough to send him over the edge. His hips slam into hers in frantic uncontrolled thrusts as he bursts deep inside her, pulse after pulse of white-hot pleasure overwhelming him, sending his mind and body into a shuddering infinity of rapture.

When the world fades back into his consciousness, Marcus finds himself slumped on his couch with Abby sprawled against him, her head resting on his shoulder. They’re both breathing heavily and damp with sweat, and the warm, soft weight of her is the sweetest thing he has ever felt. He buries his face into her hair, breathing her in, wanting to press this moment into his memory.

He loves her. He is desperately, head-over-heels in love with the woman in his arms, but that will have to wait, because now isn’t exactly the moment for that sort of confession. He doesn’t want it to be something blurted out in a post-orgasmic glow. He wants Abby to really hear it, to _believe_ it, when the time comes.

Here and now, she lets out a little sigh of contentment.

“Marcus...” she says softly, her voice half muffled in the crook of his neck. “I need to confess something to you too.”

“Mmm, what is it?” he says drowsily.

Abby giggles; he can feel the sound as much as he hears it, where her body is pressed against his.

 “I’ve been wanting to do _that_ for weeks as well,” she says.


	6. Epilogue

“Are you alright, Marcus?” You’ve gone a little bit quiet there.”

“I’m just about to fulfil a very long held fantasy of mine,” says Marcus. “I’m savouring the moment.”

“Idiot,” Abby says, fondly.

“Do have any candles? I imagined candles.”

Abby laughs as she turns the faucet on her bath off. “What women have you ever known who light candles every time they get themselves off, Marcus? Did you also imagine a sleazy soundtrack? Soft focus camerawork?”

“Mmm, I liked the soundtrack I had, actually.”

“Pervert.”

He grins. “Only when it comes to you.”

“Damn straight.” Abby dips a finger tentatively into the bath water, testing the temperature. Steam curls softly from the surface. It smells faintly of roses, thanks to the bath oil she uses; a little detail Marcus had not thought to include in his fantasies.

He doesn’t need much in the way of fantasies these days. Not when he has Abby in his bed every night, when they wake up naked and entwined every morning, when he leaves for work with the taste of her lips still on his. His whole life for the last couple of months has felt like a fantasy.

But _this_...well, Abby had suggested it, and he was hardly going to refuse.

She shrugs off her robe a touch theatrically, steps into the bath and sinks into the water slowly with a contented sigh. Marcus is sitting on a chair next to the tub, a little unsure and tingling with anticipation.

“What do you think about?” he says. “When you do this?”

Abby smiles up at him. “I like to think about my mysterious tall, dark and handsome neighbour,” she says, and winks. “I like to think about what he’d look like naked.”

Marcus chuckles, and Abby lets her head lay back against the edge of the tub, her eyes drifting closed. Her hair floats around her, on the surface and under it, swirling dark and golden around her shoulders.

“I imagine his hands on me,” she says. “His tongue running over my skin...”

She slides her hands up her body under the water as she speaks, fingers pressing softly into her wet, supple skin. At the angle she lies, her chest and shoulders are just above the water level, and when Abby’s hand glides out of the water she cups the swell of her breasts for a moment and caresses them, brushing her thumbs lightly against her sensitive nipples, teasing them to taut peaks.

“I imagine what his beard would feel like against my skin when he kisses me,” she says, her voice now soft and thready with desire. “Down my stomach, between my legs... _”_

Her right hand drifts appropriately downwards, and through the steaming water Marcus sees her slide her fingers to where she needs them most.

“I imagine him making love to me,” murmurs Abby. “What he’d feel like on top of me, inside me. How he’d – _ah_ – how he’d cry out my name as he came...”

Marcus bites back a moan as she says it, helplessly turned on. The sound of her voice is as hypnotic as the movement of her hand under the water, the swift rise and fall of her chest as her breaths become quicker. His cock is pressing urgently against his clothes, but he ignores it, lost in her pleasure.

Abby doesn’t speak any more, giving herself over to sensation, her lips parting only to utter breathy little moans as she brings herself closer to the edge. Soon she’s squirming against her own touch, whimpering with every exhalation, her free hand wandering up and down her quivering body as her efforts became more urgent.

When she comes it’s his name she cries out, sending ripples of water over the side as her orgasm rips through her, leaving her breathless and panting. The little wispy hairs that frame her face are curling in the steam, clinging to her forehead with sweat, and her face is slack with bliss.

She sinks back into the water a little, with a satisfied sigh. “Oh yeah...” she breathes. She opens her eyes – for a moment Marcus wonders if she might be surprised to see him there, if she might have forgotten about his presence, but her eyes find him immediately.

“If it’s any consolation,” she says coyly. “The real thing turned out to be much _much_ better than how I always imagined it.”

She stands up, a smooth, unexpectedly graceful movement, rising from the water to look down on him with a slightly self-conscious smile. Marcus feels like a supplicant before a goddess. Water slides down her skin, little beads rolling down the swell of her breasts, the smooth expanse of her stomach, dripping from the damp curls between her legs.

He watches her, speechless with desire, as she steps from the bath.

“So...” she says. “Was it anything like how _you_ imagined?”

Marcus means to laugh, but it comes out almost as a growl. “Get over here,” he says, almost knocking the chair to the ground as he rises to pull her into his arms. Her wet body soaks through his shirt as she presses against him, rising on her toes to meet him as he kisses her hungrily. His hands slide down the smooth, wet skin of her back to cup her ass, pulling her hips flush against the hard ridge of his erection.

Abby makes a little humming noise of satisfaction in the back of her throat, and hitches her leg obligingly up around his hips as he spins her round to pin her up against the wall. She grinds against him, making him moan against her lips, and she pulls away a little, her face flushed and her eyes bright with amusement.

“Mmm, you sure you want to do this right here?” she says. “I have it on pretty good authority that you can hear _everything_ through that wall. We don’t want to scar the poor man living next door for life.”

“Well _I_ have it on pretty good authority that he’s currently out,” says Marcus, his hand lazily caressing her thigh where her leg is wrapped around him. “So we can make as much noise as we like.”

“Thank god for that,” says Abby, and pulls him down by the scruff of his shirt to capture his lips again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liked this fic? Leave me a comment to let me know! Too socially awkward to comment on porn, even anonymously? Throw me a kudos and that's almost as good! Let me know there's an audience for this stuff and I promise you there'll be more filthy smut of both canon and AU varieties coming soon...


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